Being a Parent Is Not Easy

The entire drive home, Brad Lipski felt a burning discomfort. He hadn't asked the girls how they felt after witnessing the whole scene. But the look in their eyes told him their mood wasn't great. They were trying to act as if the incident hadn't fazed them, but they were only fifteen. Even he could read their faces without much effort.

He bit his lip to keep from cursing out loud. He had let them down by allowing them to witness his clash with Anders.

Fortunately, home wasn't far. In five minutes, they pulled up in front of their house.

"I'll make dinner!" Angela called out energetically, clutching her bag as she ran into the kitchen.

"I'll put the ice cream in the freezer," Olivia announced. As she passed her uncle, she cast him an uncertain glance.

Brad swore in his head. It wasn't like the girls didn't know who Jonathan Anders was. They had been only thirteen when tragedy struck their home, but some things even children understand—if they have enough information. And they did. The whole town had been talking about it. Every newspaper had written about it. In two years, they could have gathered as much information as they wanted. But after today's incident, he'd probably have to talk to them about it.

Lipski grabbed the last bag from the car and walked toward the house at a leisurely pace. Instinctively, his gaze flicked to the annex now occupied by Colin Stone.

Brad missed his solitude. He missed a lot of things. If he could, he'd hop on his Harley-Davidson Sportster Iron 883 right now—

He sight silently.

He needed it so badly! Longingly, he glanced toward the garage.

But the girls needed a stable, responsible parent.

Forcing a cheerful smile onto his face—doing his best to make it look as natural as possible—he stepped inside the house.

Angela was unpacking groceries in the kitchen. Setting his bag down next to hers, Brad decided he had to address the issue from outside the store.

"I'm sorry you had trouble with Mr. Anders. It wasn't your fault, you know?"

Angela stopped what she was doing.

"It's true that I bumped into him," she admitted.

"But that's not a crime. Besides, you apologized."

"Yeah, but it's Mr. Anders," she lowered her head.

"And what does it matter that it's Mr. Anders?" Olivia interjected, having changed into her home clothes at lightning speed. Her eyes shone with outrage and defiance. "I hate the way he treats our family. I hate that Uncle couldn't get a job because of him!"

Brad was stunned.

"How do you…?"

"I'm fifteen, I can put two and two together," she said defiantly.

Of course. But it wasn't just about her age—Olivia was incredibly sharp.

"Listen, it's not that big of a problem—"

"It is!" she insisted. "You're a hero! You saved that boy yesterday! You saved the bus passengers, and you can't even get a normal job, all because of that fucking—"

"Enough!" he growled, and Olivia immediately shut her mouth and lowered her gaze. "In this house, we do not curse—especially not about other people. I know I'm not a saint, and I know you both know that, but in the Lipski household, we don't swear! If I can control my tongue, so can you, young lady. I know growing up isn't easy—hell, I was there not long ago myself—but some lines should never be crossed. And you, young lady, are starting to cross them. A fight at school? What would you have done if you'd been suspended and got a mark on your record? How would you get into a good university? You stood up for yourself, and I'm proud of you, but sometimes you need more wisdom than courage. You're grounded for a week!"

Brad had no idea how those words were coming out of his mouth—especially since he hadn't wanted to scold Olivia—but it had happened anyway. His face burned, and guilt weighed heavy on his heart. Why the hell was he yelling at this girl?

"Uncle, it wasn't her fault—" Angela started, stepping toward her sister, only to be nudged away by Olivia's elbow. So Angela lowered her head in solidarity.

Shit! Fuck! Damn!

"Do you accept the punishment, or do you have something to say in your defense?"

Brad's voice was calmer now, but he could still hear the slight tremor in it.

"I accept the punishment," Olivia declared without raising her head or her voice. Angela wanted to say something, but her sister tugged at her sleeve, so she remained silent.

Brad wasn't stupid—he could tell there was more to this than Olivia was letting on. She had the right to keep secrets. She was a teenager, a girl; that was when people had the most secrets. But he was their guardian. A guardian had to raise children, and you couldn't raise a responsible adult with nothing but sweets. Every child needed to understand that actions had consequences.

"A week of grounding, then," he repeated even more calmly, though deep inside, his nerves were churning. "I need to step out for a bit," he said. If he stayed any longer, he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep his emotions in check. "If I don't have to go get the doc, I'll be back in ten minutes."

The twins didn't answer. They stood shoulder to shoulder, as if both had just been punished—solidarity, as befit sisters.

He was proud of them, which was more than he could say for himself. He had no idea if punishing Olivia was the right thing to do, but at this point in his life, he had no idea about a lot of things—and raising kids was one of them. Someone might say that two years should have been enough to learn how to be a parent, but Brad felt like even twenty wouldn't be enough for him.

He clenched his jaw and walked out of the house. He needed to get away from the girls, who probably felt he had just dealt them a massive injustice. Maybe he had. But what the hell was he supposed to do? He could only repeat the patterns of his own parents. Maybe they weren't effective, considering the situation both their sons had ended up in.

He craved a smoke. He didn't keep cigarettes in the house—he didn't want to set a bad example for the girls. But he had a pack stashed in the hiding spot between the shed and the main house. This side of the house had no windows, making it the perfect place to sneak a cigarette away from his parents' eyes—now his nieces'. If his biker gang buddies or his racing friends found out he had to hide just to smoke, they'd laugh at him. But hey, life required sacrifices.

He pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. The guilt lasted only a moment. Nobody was perfect. Everyone had the right to a moment of weakness—even him.

The first drag brought instant relief. He leaned his back against the wooden fence, closed his eyes, and exhaled a stream of gray smoke. With it, the stress began to leave his body.

God, he really needed this.

He took a second drag, but before he could exhale, he felt someone's burning gaze on him. Slowly, he opened his eyes…